


A "Safe" House

by FoxJockey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comfort, Drabble, M/M, Oneshot, at least i hope it is i can't read, jonmartin, post-160, pre-162, scottish safehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25583668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxJockey/pseuds/FoxJockey
Summary: Jon and Martin deserve one legitimately peaceful night together before shit hits the fan
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	A "Safe" House

**Author's Note:**

> hi i don't write fics hardly at all ever so i did my best thank u <3

Rain patters fast and hard against the window of the building pretending to be a cabin. It creaks and groans in the wind, rather like an actual cabin, lulling its not-quite-captive inhabitants into a sleepy stupor. A fire roars in the hearth, crackling and spitting in a way that can only feel comfortable. There is no shortage of wood for the flame; it has yet to actually show signs of depleting as more logs are removed from the pile. Something about this seems wrong, but the ease outweighs the discomfort. A faint moaning wail can be heard drifting through the building’s wooden boards, carried by the wind across unknown distances, signaling the beginnings of true suffering wrought by the Fears’ emergence. The cabin passes it off as normal settling noises and the wail goes ignored.

Jon and Martin had arrived at Daisy’s safehouse shortly after their dealings at the Panopticon, both in desperate need of respite. Not to mention they also needed to gather their thoughts before they could make their next move should they ever choose to. They were away from the Institute – they could stay that way. The world may be over, thanks to Jon, but they at least had each other. They could make their home in the false-cabin and forget everything they knew about recorders, and statements, and Fears. But something about this place nudges in the back of their minds, telling them that’s not really a choice, merely a fantasy that will never see fruition. For now, they sit curled together on a couch too comfortable to leave in front of an eerily soothing fireplace, listening to the rain that batters the cabin that is not a cabin.

They stay this way for a long while, enjoying each other’s company and near sense of peace, though both silently fearing it may come to a sudden, shattering end. Eventually, Martin begins to sit up, making Jon remove his arm from around his shoulders. “Can I get you any tea?” he asks, getting to his feet.

“We don’t need to drink,” Jon responds flatly.

Trying to hide the slight agitation he feels, Martin takes a quick breath through his nose and continues, “I know, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have anything to drink regardless. Besides, tea can be healing.”

Jon thinks this over for a moment, then nods. “You’re right. Tea would be great, thank you.” He can’t ignore how his heart thumps just slightly harder when his partner smiles. It’s a good reminder that he’s still human enough to love. Martin shuffles to the kitchen, the sounds of him rifling through the cabinets floating into the living room.

“There’s only Melrose’s, is that alright?” he calls.

“I suppose. Since it’s our only choice it’ll have to be,” Jon replies, not unkindly, though with a slight edge that implies he’d rather not have any tea at all. That sort of comfort doesn’t seem completely real anymore. Martin “hmms” and begins filling up the teapot with water.

He returns after a spell in which neither of them speaks holding two mugs of tea – one with cream and sugar for himself and plain for Jon. “Thank you,” says the latter, accepting his mug and taking a sip. The warmth spreads through him and calms the nerves he wasn’t aware were alert.

“You’re very welcome,” Martin says, returning to his spot next to Jon, leaning his head on his shoulder and nestling deeper into the cushion. There, they pass the time chatting aimlessly as the rain continues to drum its peaceful, yet uncannily violent tattoo.

\---

Jon awakes the next morning in one of the two twin beds with a jolt. His dreams were plagued by visions of Jane Prentiss and her Hive, slowly morphing into a being that was equal parts Michael and Helen, who chased him through the ever-changing corridors of the tunnels beneath the Institute. It wasn’t until coming across the corpse of Jonah Magnus, covered with infinite, all-seeing eyes, that he was able to force himself awake. He was covered in sweat and shivering slightly, but took deep, steady breaths until he could calm himself. After grabbing his glasses from the nightstand and positioning them on his hooked nose, he looked over the pockmarked flesh on his arms, souvenirs of his previous meeting with the real Jane Prentiss.

He turned his attention to Martin on the other side of the room in his own bed. He lay stock-still, his breathing quick and uneven, but still he was fast asleep. He thought briefly how much he would prefer to have one bed to share, not just for his own selfish need for pure comfort, but so he could provide the same service to the person in front of him who slept so motionless from fear.

He got out of bed and dressed as quietly as possible, heading to the desk in the corner of the living room where he’d set up a tape recorder, an assortment of files, and a few older tapes he had yet to listen to. His eyes lingered on the statement Elias - no, Jonah - used to deceive him, then moved it off to the side before sitting in the straight-backed wooden chair. It had been several days since his last statement and he was hungry. Not in the normal sense of the word. No, his hunger was deeper than an ache in his stomach. It was more of a gnawing pit in his mind that made his stomach feel tight and his body weak. He was agitated. There were only so many statements left he could read and he had already taken to rationing them. He knew that rereading them wouldn’t count. It would be no different than eating the same meal twice but never growing fuller.

After rifling through some of the remaining statements Basira sent, he found one of the more recent of the pile. It was dated 2018. Slightly stale, but it would have to do. “Statement of Annalise Ewing regarding an encounter at The Lovat Hotel in Fort Augustus,” he begins, the ache in his mind already beginning to ease, “Original statement given June 19, 2018. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims,” a beat and then a sigh, “The Archivist.”

\---

Martin didn’t make an appearance until mid-morning, looking considerably more tired than he had before going to sleep. “’Lo,” he mumbles, shuffling to the kitchen, still in his nightwear.

“Sleep well?” Jon asks, not looking up as he removes the completed tape from the recorder and labels it.

“Hardly,” Martin says from the other room, then there was silence until the whine of the teapot signaled breakfast (if a single cup of tea could be counted as such).

Feeling marginally better after “having” a statement, Jon suggests the two of them taking a turn around the back garden to get some fresh air - as fresh as it may be, given the circumstances. Martin grimaces as if the idea of being anywhere besides inside the cabin was the last thing in the world he would want to do. So instead, they spend the majority of the day as they have been: sitting together, reading through Daisy’s sparse collection of books in silence. There are several moments throughout the day where Jon starts in a panic, debating if he should chance a peek through the window to the ruined world outside. He always rushed to his tape recorder instead, picking it up, turning it over, and setting it back down before returning to his seat.

“What is it?” Martin would say each time, barely masking the fear creeping into his voice.

“I thought I heard something,” Jon would respond before planting a light kiss on Martin’s forehead as he sat back down in an attempt to soothe him. Or maybe to ground himself. The brief contact was enough that both of them felt simultaneously together and completely alone.

Night falls faster than normal that day as if the clock on the wall worked doubly hard to speed time up. Jon had just finished his second book of the day (some cheesy young adult werewolf romance he would normally turn his nose up at) and had taken to staring at the empty fireplace, barely forming the thought that is was odd how they never ran out of wood before Martin pipes up, “We should have a date. Right now.”

“Hm,” Jon responds, blinking to bring himself back to the present, “What did you have in mind?”

Martin smiles lightly and untangles himself from Jon to head to the kitchen, reappearing a moment later with a bottle of cheap red wine and two glasses. “Picked this up at the market in town before… Well, I think we deserve a genuinely nice evening instead of- of whatever’s been happening.” He places the glasses on the coffee table and pours their shares, handing Jon his before sitting back down with his own. Neither of them noticed that the fireplace was now alight with a deeply inviting fire, the Cabin’s attempts at taking back control of the comfortable fear it meant for them to experience.

“To one good night,” Martin says softly.

“To one good night,” Jon repeats, clinking their glasses together. They both take a sip and lean back into the couch. It was enticingly, deceptively pleasant. Bit by bit, they work their way through the wine, their cheeks gradually becoming rosier and their laughter coming more easily.

“Do you know,” Martin says, holding his wine out at a very precarious angle, “I fell in love with you basically the moment I first saw you?”

“Oh, really?” Jon says, intrigue coursing through his veins, or maybe just the alcohol, “I recall there being a bit of an issue regarding a dog in the archives the first time you saw me.” Martin laughs jovially in response, making the blush in Jon’s cheeks deepen.

“I do remember that. Tim had to help me chase the poor thing down. Oh, you were so mad,” he wipes a tear from his eye and takes another sip of wine. Jon couldn’t help but shrink into himself at that last comment.

“It wasn’t the best first impression,” Jon admits, “I was such an ass to you.”

“Quite the understatement, I assure you!” Martin says, much louder than likely intended, “But you got better.” He pauses, briefly lost in the memory before saying, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“When did you realize you were completely head over heels for me?” Martin waggles his eyebrows, causing Jon to roll his eyes.

“Well,” Jon leans in closer after a beat, careful to keep his glass upright, “I can’t say there was a single moment so much as several that added up.”

“Do go on,” Martin smirked, turning so he was facing Jon directly.

“There was the time you told me you lied on your CV-”

Martin cuts him off, “Wait, that was a defining moment for us to you?”

Jon shrugs, smiling fondly “It was the most convincing sign I knew I could trust you at the time. After that I- I grew to realize you were the only person who genuinely cared about what happened to me. After The Unknowing… you had more than proven yourself. And six months later when I woke up, you were the only person I wanted to see.”

“Jon, I-”

“You don’t have to say anything about what happened with Peter,” he assures, placing his unscarred hand on Matin’s cheek and his wine glass on the coffee table, “But of everything, it was during that time I knew I couldn’t go on without you. You were so patient with me for years, it was the least I could do to return the favor.”

Before he knew it, Martin had closed the gap between them, pressing their lips together and snaking his free hand through Jon’s hair. This certainly was not their first kiss, but none of the others had this underlying passion behind them. Jon was overcome with a new kind of hunger, a more welcome one. It wasn’t something that ached in his stomach or tore at his mind, but a need to be so near to the person he loved. The same person who loved him back.

He clumsily took Martin’s half-full wine glass from him, not even breaking away, and placed it unceremoniously on the coffee table beside his own. Martin took his newly freed hand and traced it across the stubble on Jon’s jaw, eventually clasping it gently behind his neck. Jon followed suit, deepening the kiss while placing his other hand on Martin’s shoulder.

As far as intimacy goes, this was quickly becoming more than the normal fill for either of them, yet they continued, growing more desperate by the second to be closer to the other. Martin was the first to pull away, panting slightly while resting his forehead against Jon’s. He didn’t protest once his partner began to edge downwards, brushing his lips against his jaw. The moan that escaped him was nothing short of devastating for Jon, who continued pressing kisses along a path down Martin’s neck.

“Jon,” Martin gasped, and Jon pulled away immediately.

“Was that okay?” he asked, brown eyes meeting blue.

“Absolutely,” he breathed, “I just need a moment.”

“Of course…”

And when the moment passed, Martin was on his feet, holding his hand out to Jon, who took it gratefully, albeit slightly reserved. He allowed himself to be led to the bedroom and towards the bed – had there always only been one bed? The thought was lost the moment Martin lowered him onto it and pressed himself against him, bringing their lips together once more. He reciprocated enthusiastically and snaked his hand under Martin’s woolen sweater to run his fingers along the small of his back. Martin shuddered at his touch and moved to remove the restricting garment, but was quickly stopped by Jon, who suddenly looked rather panicked.

“What is it?” Martin asked, barely hiding how ruined he feels from the previous encounter.

“I’m very sorry, Martin,” Jon whispered, and he truly looked it, “But I think I may have overstepped.”

“Not at all,” Martin assures.

“I mean, for myself. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with… going forward.”

“I see,” Martin says lightly, his expression softening, “We can stop now if you’d like?”

“Please.”

Martin pushes himself off of Jon and gives him some space to catch his breath. Both are still deeply flustered but beginning to regain control. Before long, Jon holds out his arm and beckons Martin over, then wraps him in a hug the moment he is near enough.

“Thank you,” Jon says somewhere into Martin’s torso. The latter chuckles, and places a hand on Jon’s head, stroking his hair.

“Time for bed, do you think?” he says, feeling Jon nod.

He steps away and the two of them change into their nightclothes in comfortable silence. Not the fabricated comfort steeped with doubt that seems to come from the cabin, but something completely their own. They get into bed together and settle down underneath the too-heavy blankets, Jon resting his head against Martin’s chest and Martin wrapping his arm around him. While a storm kicks up outside and that horrible wind cuts through the cracks in the floorboards, they relish in the most sincere form of peace they’ve experienced since the end of the world.


End file.
